


Slow Decaying Fruit

by melitta4ever



Series: Threats [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Blood and Violence, Case Fic, Death Threats, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-05-23 18:25:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14939510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melitta4ever/pseuds/melitta4ever
Summary: Do you remember the death threats at the end of season 17? The one that showrunners and writers conveniently forgot. This is my take.Or...The squad starts investigating the threats. What they find isn't pretty. And it only gets worse.





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Please beware: I chose not to use archive warnings which does not mean "no warnings apply". 
> 
> This isn't a fluffy story, ladies and gents, not at all. If there are some topics that you need to know whether or not included, you might wanna wait till the end where I'll summarize the possible triggers. Or you can ask me, I'm melitta4ever in Tumblr.
> 
> Also, special thanks for temporaryinsanity91 for her exceptional help with the writing. The remaining mistakes are all mine because I am impatient and stubborn, and I just can't stop tweaking.

 

_“Friendship is a slow ripening fruit.”_

_Aristotle_

 

1871 FURNISHED APARTMENTS  
62ND ST AND PARK AVE  
FRIDAY NIGHT, JUNE 24

 

 

Olivia remembers one, single night, long time ago, when Manhattan was actually dark. The great power failure that crippled the city caused recurring nightmares for most of its residents. Olivia knows many people laughed at how scared New Yorkers were at that night. Those were the people who didn't live in 40 story high buildings where basic human needs like drinking water relied on said power, where taking the stairs to your apartment meant half hour vigorous exercise in complete darkness in case of an emergency. But even during that night, New York wasn't really quiet. It never is. The nights are bright and loud in this city. Of course it might be her job affecting her perception; if she's out at night, the chances are she is accompanied with red-blue lights off emergency crew as well as the big flashlights that turn the night into a day in search of a suspect or a clue.

Just like tonight. She looks at the street filled with patrol cars, fire trucks and ambulances; illuminated with a radiant and iridescent light play; tumultuous and noisy as a merry carnival. It is bright and loud even though it's way past midnight. In Olivia's experience, it's a classic city night; just how an average case starts. She was called to the scene and arrived right after victims were taken to the nearest hospital. But regardless the similarities, everything feels different tonight. The weather is an oddity for summer for example; sprinkling a little, barely wetting the clean sidewalk but still enough of a distraction. The everpresent noise is slightly different too; dialogues are more hushed as if everyone is sharing a secret Olivia isn't privy to. And they are all trying to avoid eye contact with her, like they have something to hide. Of course everything is different. She can't be objective, not when cases involves friends, family….she is human after all.

She finally spots Carisi, in the middle of blue sea of Unis. He looks so young under the unforgiving lights, a lost boy; like someone stole his candy on a Sunday morning and he just now realized that there really is evil in this world. It's an alien look; Carisi has seen his fair share of evil.

“Carisi!”

He turns, eyes blood red. His lashes are clamped up with moisture, and he's still crying. Big, heavy drops.

“Lieutenant.” His voice is strained, barely escaping the depths of his chest. Exactly like when Noah calls for her when he falls from his bike. Olivia sure feels motherly affection for her very grown up detective at the moment. “Any news?” He asks expectantly, like Olivia has all the answers.

“They're on the way to hospital.” That's all she knows. She wants to be there, waiting for the news right at the center as if that would help the situation. But as Carisi's supervisor she has to be with her detective. She has to. Hopefully, they can be at the hospital by the time doctors have anything to say. “How are you?”

Apparently the question is the last straw for Carisi because he just collapses. Luckily, Olivia is right next to him so she catches his arm before Carisi’s head is cracked open at the recently polished sidewalk.

“Can I get some help!” She yells; dozens of police officers, as many emergency crew, and she is the one holding Carisi's 6 feet something gangly body to prevent injury.

Two EMTs run toward them, one is honest to God berating Carisi.

“The next time detective, you listen to medical advice.”

“He refused the treatment before.” The second guy explains shyly to Olivia.

They sit Carisi down, going through classic shock assessment steps and that's when Olivia sees IAB guys getting close.

“Seriously, guys. You couldn't wait until he sees a doctor.”

“You know we have to be here, Lieutenant.” Captain Ryan says, he seems a bit less eager than usual. “But take your guy to a hospital, first. Don't matter which hospital.”

“Thank you.”

“It's only procedure,” says the young one that Olivia hasn't met before… or has forgotten as soon as she met. “They were two to one. What your man did was clearly self defense if not heroic. Don't worry.”

That's a first. Not that Olivia gonna trust IAB’s word.

“Who's responsible of the case?” She asks instead. They would never allow her squad when Carisi is involved in a deadly shooting there.

“You're free to talk to the Captain Logan, Lieutenant. He's upstairs.”

“Thank you.” She turns to Carisi, “Wait for me a few minutes, okay?”

“He has to sit down for a while.” The blond EMT answers instead, “Or take an ambulance.”

“I'm okay.” Carisi peeps out, but no one listens to him.

“Wait here, Carisi.” She makes sure her voice carrying the weight of an order.

She has to shoulder pass few Unis on her way up. So many cops... They are everywhere. Filling every square inch of the building and gushing out to street. Most of them are standing idly, chatting, gossiping. They are here just for the show. A display for the hungry reporters that 1PP is taking this disaster seriously.

“Captain Logan.” She would recognize him even if she didn't met the guy before. There is something to say about captains and SVU apparently because he couldn't be more similar to Cragen if they were brothers.

“Olivia!” He stops his detective's hurried talk with a single hand gesture to talk to her instead. “Come in.”

“Thank you, Captain. I know I can't--”

“Say no more. We all know the drill. Unfortunately, I don't have much to tell you. I just arrived the scene myself.”

“I'm surprised you could make it this soon. It's not a quick drive from Bronx.”

“1PP asked for special victims and you guys were out.” He explains a bit coldly and Olivia realizes he took her words as a curtained attack, as if Olivia would care the jurisdiction wars at the moment.

“I'm only glad you're handling this, Captain.” She tries catching Logan's eyes, “this case requires special victims and you're one of the best there is.”

Captain Logan gives a tight smile. “There is way too much to process, Olivia. How about I give you a call when we make heads or tails of this mess.” He gestures the whole room: Two bodies, fallen on the once beige carpet... A broken chair with a missing leg is lying down on the shattered coffee table. Rainbow colored pebbles, strewn on the floor, running away from their crashed bowl... Dinner leftovers -spaghetti, red sauce and bread she guesses- are coalesced together into a cloying mass. Scattered empty casings and bullet hole ridden walls... And the _sine qua non_ of the most brutal crime scenes: widespread blood splatter. While calm, red lakes are slowly turning murky around the bodies, various size droplets embellish the suede coach and the heavy curtains like tiny ruby rocks. It is a mess. She tries to construct an image of how things were before, where each perp stood, where the victims--

She turns back to the Captain realizing she can't pull herself together through her emotional turmoil in order to construct the crime scene.

“I heard there was a witness?”

“I don't think she's going to be much help or if she's just a witness.” Carson shrugs with his usual scepticism: suspect everyone first, prove them innocent later. “Drugged to gills. She's at the hospital too, under observation.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Other than a strong hug, someone competent working on this case is really all she needs at the moment. Still, one thing she has to ask, “I know I don't have to remind you Captain, but I'm gonna anyways. Everyone knows how important the discretion is in this case, right?”

“1PP has made necessary warnings… along the lines of being on traffic duty until the end of times.” He stops and holds Olivia's arm with a big, strong hand, “Don't you worry, Olivia. We'll get to the bottom of this.”

She can't answer, suddenly her throat is tight. She settles with the most appreciative nod she can muster and hurries back to her detective before doing something very rookie and cry on a crime scene.

 

TBC...


	2. The Procedure

SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT  
MANHATTAN 16TH PRECINCT  
MONDAY, APRIL 25

 

Going into the precinct had never felt this hard, not even when Rollins had called him on his day off, while catching up with Rita on one spectacular yacht party. He knew how everyone would be down, still mourning, probably drowning in survivor guilt. Especially Olivia. He selfishly hoped he wouldn't see her today. He didn't want to be a job for her today of all days.

Carisi met him at the entrance; gentle and unusually silent. The whole precinct was unusually silent as if someone finally found the volume button of the squad and brought it down to the whisper level. Everyone looked busy; writing, typing, on the phone... but the constant urgency that had been ever present in their manner was lacking today. The energy that filled the whole building, giving an extra bounce even to his own feet whenever he had visited, was missing. Death of a hero was a horrible thing to get over.

Carisi led the way as if it was Rafael's first time in the precinct. He even offered him something to drink and Rafael -belatedly- realized that the detective was treating him like a victim. Not the legendary (Carisi's word, not his) ADA, but a victim **.** He tried not to show his distaste of being handled with kid’s gloves.

  


“He looks smaller there.” He blurted out, after identifying his attacker. When he thought about it, the memory of the bastard was still towering over him, filling the empty elevator car, barely leaving enough space for Rafael to breathe.

“They usually do, Counselor.” answered Carisi, but with unexpected wisdom, kept quiet afterwards. Rafael couldn't see the familiar shine in his blue eyes today, nor his trademark swagger which always reminded Rafael the elegance of a newborn giraffe. Even his Staten Island accent received its share from the somber atmosphere, subdued under the weight of grief.

Before he could safely leave the precinct, Olivia caught them; not that he was realistically hoping she wouldn't.

“My office, Counselor?” She didn't wait for his answer and turned back; confident that Rafael would follow. Carisi gave him a tight smile that might be translated as _good luck_ or _goodbye_ before leaving him there. So much for the kid’s gloves.

Olivia curtly gestured the seat across her desk. Her lips were twitching in an effort to stop biting them as he had seen her doing many times on witness stand while being questioned by an especially annoying defense lawyer.

“I hear that you're getting threats for almost a year now.” She sounded exactly like his _momá_ had been when she had effectively interrogated him about not visiting church any longer.

“I think that was given with my job description. Are you really surprised?” He tried to be nonchalant.

“Don't try me, Rafael.” Her strained voice told him that nonchalant was the wrong strategy. “I need you to disclose every single threat you received to the detectives. Am I clear?”

“Just the death threats or--” He started, but seeing the enraged look from Olivia, stopped. She rose up halfway with a threatening finger that shushed him, then sat back again, seemingly boiling inside. For a short moment, Rafael expected to see smoke coming out of her ears.

“I just buried a colleague, Rafael.” She said, her voice suddenly lost all that suppressed anger; heavy with weariness instead. “I missed one, single, small step in the procedure and Dodds paid for it with his life.” Her words carried her ponderous guilt and managed to dump some of it on Rafael's shoulders. He wanted to say something, to explain how it wasn't her fault -something he had heard her to say to victims again and again. However, all that Rafael’s tongue was a maestro in argumentative monologues and sarcasm, it was pathetically impotent when it came to comfort.  

“So, I'm begging you.” She continued, “Take Carisi, and give him everything you have, however small you think it is. If you're not doing it for yourself, do it for my sanity. Please.” She looked smaller after she was done talking.

“You got it, Olivia.” He said, trying to sound as sincere as he could.

“Thank you.” She whispered while he was leaving the room, her eyes focused on the goodbye poster for Sergeant Dodds.

  


ADA RAFAEL BARBA'S OFFICE  
1 HOGAN PLACE  
MONDAY, APRIL 25

 

Carisi was eager, back to his usual self, away from the precinct and its solemn tone. He was going through boxes full of paper trail that Carmen had insisted keeping. _“When they find your bloated corpse in Hudson, I’ll need something to show the cops to prove I'm a competent secretary. Think about them as my reference letter you'll never get to write.”_ was her exact words. The way the women around him treated Rafael, he couldn't believe he still managed to keep his street cred as a hardass ADA.

“Some of these are quite specific, Counselor.” Carisi peeped; turning back from where he bent over one of the boxes on the conference table.

“The ones about the size of my miniscule reproductive organs? Gratuitous insults.” Rafael couldn't help but tease from his desk.

“I'm not joking.” Carisi sounded offended; eyebrows knitted together as if what Rafael said was confusing him. “I know most are bunch of angry, stupid letters; but some are serious.” He got up; carelessly cranking his back with loud _pop pop_ s like a teenager going through growth spurt. “Like this one.” He handed one letter to Rafael to prove his point:

 

 **I'll make you kneel at right where you really belong. I'll fill your mouth with what you really need. I'll make you swallow what you really crave. Who are you gonna call then,** **_maricón?_ ** **Nobody.**

 

“Why's this any different than the ones about how I don't deserve to see another day?” He asked, trying not to show the effect of a single word, _faggot,_ on him. He left those days behind and he had buried whatever was left of it with his father.

“I…” Carisi started; but, for the first time since Rafael had met the guy, he stopped himself before speaking. He must've been much better at this empathy thing than Olivia gave him credit for. “If that's everything, I'll take the boxes to the precinct.” He said after the short hesitation, and placed the boxes on the old, rusty dolly that Barba had no idea from where Carmen had found. Carisi stopped at the door for a second, mouth open with a silent question; but then left with only a nod.

 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I stole Amanda's line. Sorry Amanda.


	3. Threats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Lyssa13 for lighting speed beta.

 

SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT  
MANHATTAN 16TH PRECINCT  
TUESDAY, APRIL 26

 

Working with Carisi was an acquired taste. Amanda had hated the guy at first, and not only because he had joined the unit to fill Nick's place. He had been too much; too tall, too loud, too crass, too pretentious... And how could she forget the moustache? Bleh! Over the time though, she had gotten used to him. Carisi was a darn good detective; ridiculously good instincts and even better work ethic. That, in and of itself, was more than enough reason to work with the guy, but there was more. Amanda had realized Carisi was totally sincere through all his talk about family and friendship. He wasn't a preachy asshole, he was just… that passionate. And she realized what she had perceived as pompousness was simply the side effect of him wearing his heart on his sleeve.

It was even fun working with Carisi -if you could tune out the loudness and crassness because those traits were for keeps- unless the case they were working on was regarding ADA Rafael Barba. Now… now Amanda felt more like the first weeks when the sudden desire to strangle Carisi kept popping up unannounced. His constant babbling had risen to new heights, already giving Amanda a headache this early in the morning. He kept meandering on the subject matter, distracted by Barba's past cases. Amanda also had to agree that Barba’s wins were really impressive in number, if nothing else; however, going through each and every case of the ADA should not be done side by side with Carisi for the sake of one's mental health. Carisi knew all of Barba's cases, even the ones before his time. How easy or hard or freaking impossible they had been, what mistakes had been done by the defense or whichever ingenious trick Barba had pulled in order to win... His eyes were shining with almost a far-away look in them, voice high and melodical as if talking about a spiritual experience. Goodness gracious! Carisi didn't just venerate Barba, he worshipped the ground the guy walked on.

 

 

“Liv. You got a minute?” Amanda caught up with the lieutenant when she was rushing into her office, expertly balancing a large coffee mug, her phone and the oversized handbag in her hands.

“I just…” She stopped, then visibly recollected herself. “Come in.”

Amanda had to push a reluctant Carisi to Liv's office, then closed the door behind her; not really interested in sharing what they had to talk with the whole precinct.

“About Barba--” She started but Liv didn't let her finish.

“Is he giving you a problem?” She asked exasperatedly as if talking about a delinquent. “Do you need me call him?”

“No!” Carisi jumped to his favorite ADA’s defense. If Carisi thought he was being covert, he was delusional. Amanda appreciated Liv’s self control for not rolling her eyes each time Carisi behaved like a lovesick puppy. On the other hand, considering Carisi behaved like a giant puppy most of the time, maybe the lovesick part was kind of getting lost under all that ‘look-what-i-did-give-me-a-cookie'ness. “The problem is that we think there might be a second threat. Another serious one.”

Amanda placed the papers, which Carmen had dutifully time stamped, on Liv’s desk:

 

**“You’ll see what being a victim truly means. Not like one of those lying bitches you advocate. A real victim.”**

 

**“Doesn't matter how much you try to hide, I'm gonna show everyone what you really are,** **_pato,_ ** **how gagging for a cock in your filthy mouth.”**

 

**“You're gonna beg and not prettily like you do when you can't get enough dick in your ass. It's gonna be ugly.”**

 

**“They say you can't rape the willing. I'll prove them wrong,** **_marica.”_ **

 

Olivia's color dropped a tone lighter with each piece she read, eyes opening wider. When she finished, she looked at them over her glasses with raised eyebrows, clearly expecting a prompt explanation.

“There is more, Liv. These are just the tip of an iceberg.” Amanda added; she wanted to unsee the hideousness written on the rest, no need to burden Liv with them too.

“I guess we now know why he was hesitant to mention the threats.” Carisi said, his accent heavy like whenever he didn't care to pay close attention to it. “These are nasty.”

“And we think these threats indicate towards a hate crime...” Amanda added; when it became obvious that  Carisi wasn't going to. “... **if** these are an attack on Barba's sexual preferences.”

“That would bump up the threat assessment so we can enhance the protection detail.” Carisi finalized their thought process. That was the whole reason bringing these threats up now, before they could find anything more substantial about them.

They all looked at each other for a moment. Amanda knew what they were asking of the lieutenant. Amanda and Carisi didn't have the balls to call Barba and ask questions about his personal life, to confirm the hate crime aspect of the threats. They were expecting Liv to do it for them.

“This all might be someone making assumptions based on how well Barba dresses.” Carisi added with a shrug. And he was right; it might very well be a cheap attack on someone looking and earning better than some low life who didn't have anything better to do. Amanda sure called enough drivers _cocksucker_ without even seeing them, let alone knowing their sex life. However, the dedication behind these threats and the sheer amount of them drew a more serious picture.

“Increase the threat assessment.” Liv ordered with finality; shuffling the papers together and giving them back. “And make sure to investigate these seriously.”

“You know something we don't, Lieutenant?” questioned Carisi, leaning on her desk.

“I'm sure I know a lot that you don't, Detective.” was Liv’s curt reply. “You don't have to spell out the reason for the bump in the protection, so let's keep it quiet as long as we can. Now, if you'll excuse me…” She pointed the door.

Carisi closed the door behind him after leaving the office and turned to Amanda with big, questioning eyes, “So…”

“So, he's gay and I gather he doesn't want to advertise it.” She thought it was obvious, but Carisi's mouth was still open like he forgot how to operate it. “And it shouldn't matter to us, at all”, she added carefully.

“You think I'm a homophobe, Rollins?”

“I think you're a good Catholic.” She put it out halfway between a statement and a question.

Carisi smiled then, instead of delving into a barreling defense of his or Church's view on the subject. “Nah. I'm cool, don't worry.”

The detached attitude and the genuine smile convinced Amanda; much better than any verbose argument could ever manage.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure the protection detail classification I made up is just that, made up thing. Even so, considering some crazy SVU episodes, I think I'm using my literary license in moderation compared to canon.  


	4. Inside Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Lyssa13 and tobeconspicuous for their beta work and encouragements. Remaining mistakes are all mine because I can't resist the urge to change stuff even when I'm posting.

SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT  
MANHATTAN 16TH PRECINCT  
MONDAY, MAY 2

 

It’s been one of those days... It seemed the more Fin spent time in the police force, the more wicked the human race became. Today the sentiment felt truer than ever. He had just booked a father for sexually assaulting his kids. Fin didn't know which one hit him harder: a dad using his own flesh and blood for his sick fantasies or a mom, who was supposed to cherish and care for the poor kids, turning a blind eye on the abuse. None of the adults in the kids’ life; not the grandparents, nor the aunts or uncles, not even the teachers… no one helped the poor kids. They were either completely blind or they preferred the bliss of ignorance. The only reason SVU got wind of the situation was that the older sibling had caught the father with the youngster and stabbed the guy to protect her little brother. Years in this business had taught Fin how impossibly hard it was for victims to stand up to their abusers; this girl was a goddamn hero.

The physical evidence was overwhelming even though there were no witnesses forthcoming with anything useful; apart from, _'Mr. Riley? No way... A doting father... Good businessman… Perfect gentleman...’_

“Sargeant!” Barba's voice pulled him out of his morbid thoughts.

“Counselor. Anything wrong with Riley case?” If somebody made an error in the chain of evidence, Fin was going to show them exactly how it would feel to be afraid of someone you're supposed to trust.

“No, no.” Barba shook his head dismissively, “Multiple charges of aggravated sexual assault in the first degree and as clear cut as a case can be. Unless his lawyer can perform a great miracle, Riley will stay in prison until he’s good and dead.”

“What about the daughter?”

“You really think DA office would charge a teenager for protecting her brother from their abuser?”

“Just checkin’,” shrugged Fin, deciding to keep what he really thought of the DA office to himself. “So,what brings you to our humble dwelling?”

Barba looked around, mostly toward Lieu’s empty office, absentmindedly biting his cheek.

“I received a new threat.” He said after a moment of hesitation. “And I have questions.”

He was nervous. And seeing someone like Barba nervous meant serious trouble. Fin led him to Liv's office for privacy. Barba unbuttoned his jacket as if it annoyed him personally and handed Fin a piece of inconspicuous blue post-it.

 

 **You think advertising that you're a** **_puto_ ** **to NYPD is gonna help you? That they'll be more inclined to help now that they know you're** **_un mamahuevo_** **? You're sorely mistaken.**

 

O-kay. Now that Fin read the note, he realized that what he had initially thought as nerves was actually anger; enough to cause tiny little tremors in the ADA’s hands.

“I'm going out a limb and guess that you guys might know something about this ‘ _advertisement_ ’?” Barba asked casually, his tone anything but.

Fin looked around, but the office was still empty. Lieu didn't pop out of thin air to save him. Great, it was his responsibility to explain the situation. As if he didn't hate being a sergeant enough.

“We increased the threat assessment,” He said slowly and carefully, weighing each word. “Based on the hate crime aspect of the messages.”

“I see.” Barba gave him a tight smile that was usually directed to Buchanan. Not good. “And you didn't think it was necessary, or I don't know, cordial to inform a Manhattan ADA before outing him? Outing him to the very people that you had every reason to suspect might as well be behind these threats.” His voice gradually raised over the length of the sentence, leaving him literally yelling at Fin at the end.

“Barba?” Thank God, Lieu was back. “Is everything alright?” _Wrong question Liv_ , Fin shook his head to send a hint, but Liv’s eyes were focused on the angry lawyer in her office.

“I was just asking Sergeant Tutuola why would SVU lose sight of their usual care for the privacy of the **victim**.” He spat the last word out like it was venomous.

“I'm sorry?” Liv looked at Fin for answers.

“Barba received another message, mocking him with the new threat level.” Fin summarized the situation.

“I see.” Liv sat down her desk.

“Do you, Lieutenant?” Not ‘Olivia’ Fin observed.

“Barba, I assure you at the time we were certain these threats were separate--”

“Don't!” He got up, hands going over his suit, flatten out invisible crinkles on his jacket, “I want the protection detail gone. Effective immediately.”

“You can't be serious.”

“Deadly.” He said with a bitter smile. “I know all about the blue walls of silence, Olivia. I just thought maybe for our friendship's sake, you'd consider the possibility that some of your brothers from NYPD might be behind this nonsense. Clearly I was wrong.”

“These are serious threats.”

“Yeah?” scoffed Barba, “I still don't want NYPD protection. The perp is either going to be in my protection detail or, _prima facie,_ will know all about it to find a weakness.” He had a point but Fin wasn't gonna say so to Liv. “This farce protection is gonna do only one thing: foraging through my life and privacy. Most probably the threats were aiming just for that.”

“Barba, please--”

“This was a courtesy visit, Lieutenant.” ‘ _Like the one I never received from you_ ’ was understood from his bitter tone. “I already put the paperwork in motion.” He left, footsteps loud on the floor as if trying to crush his anger.

“That was… something.” Fin tried to gauge Liv’s mood after that ass chewing.

“He’ll come through.” She said after a while.

“Yeah. He's angry, but you guys are good friends. You’ll get over this.” Fin tried convincing her, but Liv’s confused look meant she wasn't talking about their friendship. “Oh, you meant he’d change his mind about the protective detail? Seriously, Liv? You met the guy?” Rafael Barba wasn't known for taking steps back.

  
  


“So... I've heard Barba sent the protection detail packing.” Carisi said, perching on Fin’s desk. How his bony ass was not covered in bruises always sitting on hard corners, Fin didn't know.

It became Fin's corvée to inform everyone about the fallout between Barba and Lieu. It was quite a loud ordeal and cops gossiped like old ladies in a book club apparently. Fin was surprised Munch didn't call him to ask about it all the way from DA’s office. Yet. Luckily, nobody was trying to be suave about it as Carisi was failing so miserably to do so.

“Yes.” Fin wasn't gonna make it easy for him.

“So…” Carisi started playing with the folders on Fin's desk. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Be respectful of his wishes.” As if they had any other options.

“Of course, of course. But you know Lieu…” He pointed back to her office with a crooked smile, “She ain't gonna take no for an answer.”

“I say Liv is an avid advocate about the whole _no means no_ business.” Fin answered and pulled the files back from Carisi's hand before he messed up their order. “As we all should.”

“I'm taking Barba to the firing range, next week.” Amanda peeped, dropping herself on her chair and joining the conversation without preamble. “He asked for help.” She added with a shrug after seeing the obvious question mark on Carisi's face.

“From you?” blurted Carisi. The guy had it bad, way too bad. Fin would feel sorry for him **if** he was a highschool boy working up the courage to ask his dream date out and not a grown ass dude.

“I guess he heard that I'm the best shooter.” Amanda teased, suggestively lifting her eyebrows. But she couldn't keep up the ruse against those tell-me-everything baby-blues. Her weakness, however much she pretended to despise them. “I suggested him to get a gun when he first mentioned the threats. He's being thorough now.”

“That's good. Right?” Carisi smiled; his leg wagging nervously, shaking the whole desk, repeatedly banging it to Amanda's and slowly frying Fin's nerves. He couldn't take it anymore.

“We can offer some protection detail ourselves. He trusts us.” Fin suggested and as he had expected Carisi jumped to the idea. Evidently, he had already planned everything: a safe house, the necessity to randomize Barba's courthouse schedules, panic buttons... Fin could barely squeeze a word in.

“It's all good, man. Just… give the guy time to cool off first, a'ight?”

“Yeah, yeah of course,” He passed it off with a flick of his hand as if Sonny was the most patient man on Earth and Fin was just being a nuisance by suggesting otherwise. “I should tell Lieu about our idea, right.”

“You do that,” Amanda smiled. “About **our** idea.”

It felt serene and silent upon Carisi's leave, even with the constant humm of the precinct. Carisi was like a jackhammer when he was into something. And he really was into Barba.

“I can't believe you thought he was a homophobe,” Fin whispered to Amanda. Yeah, yeah he liked gossiping too.

“Hey, a closeted, in denial gay might be as dangerous,” she answered indignantly.

“Closeted my ass!” He laughed. “The only way Carisi is in a closet is to play 7 minutes with the ADA he's writing serenades for.”

His comment caught her totally unaware, causing her coughing up coffee everywhere with a very unladylike snort. This job wasn’t too bad, he reflected, cleaning the sprayed coffee on his desk through intermittent apologies of Amanda; the company sure made the journey bearable.

TBC...


	5. Intense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the end notes for possible trigger warnings.
> 
> I should confess that anexcessoffeels (headbuttingbears)'s amazing story Window Shopping might have some influence on this one. Her Carisi's eagerness unintentionally became my head-canon. 
> 
> Special thanks to Lyssa13 and tobeconspicuous for being amazing betas. The remaining mistakes are all mine because sometimes I'm too attached to those mistakes to change them.

ADA RAFAEL BARBA'S OFFICE  
1 HOGAN PLACE  
THURSDAY NIGHT, MAY 19

 

Today was a fiasco. A complete and utter disaster that left Sonny scared of what the next moment might bring. The morning had started out good. Really good. Sonny had woken up before the alarm clock, rested and content, with glimpses of a good -if naughty- dream hurrying him to bathroom to enjoy a long, hot and fun shower... Only to find he didn't have any hot water. The cold shower was more than enough to erase all traces of that nice dream from his memory, turning him into a shivering mess. Then, he got soaked on the way to work after getting his morning joe. Soaked. In freaking May. A broken fire hydrant had flooded the street and an angry cab driver passed through it fast enough to drench Sonny's suit in muddy Manhattan gunk. Thankfully, he kept an extra one at the station.

During the day, a victim -who was actually lying about the rape because she was afraid of her daddy finding out she hadn't kept her **promise** \- cried her heart out on Sonny's shoulder, leaving shiny traces of bodily fluids on him; luckily he wasn't wearing his suit jacket at that moment. Right after lunch, which was surprisingly accident free, Rollins bumped into him with her scolding coffee and promptly blamed him for the mishap. To make matters worse, a rookie had thrown up on his shoes while Sonny had been busy cleaning up the coffee stain in the restroom.

Sonny was seriously considering the possibility that he was cursed; that he had angered some crazy old lady with his carelessness maybe and now he was paying for it. Dearly. There couldn't be any other explanation for the amount of bad luck he was experiencing in a single day. Especially now...

He had knocked down Barba's tumbler while trying to impress the ADA with his legal jargon which, thanks to his genes, required a lot of hand gestures. And when he had tried to save the documents scattered on the guy's desk, he toppled the water bottle over. It rolled and rolled under Sonny's unbelieving eyes, and fell to Barba's side of the desk, leaking a tiny stream of water in its wake.

After a moment of mortifying shock, Sonny jumped into action. Quickly and efficiently, if he said so himself, he picked up the paper towels from the cabinet under the coffee machine and dropped down to clean up the mess he had created thanks to the nasty curse. It had to be a curse now, right? He picked up the bottle from where it’d rolled all the way under the big, mahogany desk and placed it on top. Only after the fact did he realize that he was actually kneeling between Barba's legs and facing his crotch. His cheeks felt warmer with this realization and his tie tighter. Barba looked down at him from his chair; legs opened wide to accommodate Carisi’s unsolicited presence, that trademark smirk on his face, and a glint in his green eyes.

Now Sonny felt even more flushed and flabbergasted. The ADA of his dreams sighed, not an unhappy one; more like I'm-so-done-with-this variety.

“We both know why you're down on your knees, Detective. Go on. You have my permission.”

Heaps of paper towels in his hands trying to clean the spilled water, Sonny stopped. Not really sure if he had heard Barba correctly or his brain just lost it under the stress of this cursed day and decided to replay one of his favorite jerk off fantasies. He could only guess how he looked at the moment while contemplating the integrity of his auditory system: wide eyed like a clueless virgin who stumbled upon an indecent offer.

“Seriously. You need me to spell it for you?” Barba asked; seemingly all composed and cool as a cucumber. Only a slight hitch in his voice betrayed his composure which Sonny couldn't be certain that it wasn't his imagination, especially with the way his heart was pounding right in his ear drums. “Take me out, Detective.” Barba ordered.

And Sonny obeyed because how he could not; to a voice rattling him to the core. His hands-- his trembling hands, Jesus Christ! He was 16 years old again; trying to touch Neil Connor’s junk in the senior’s bedroom, under that legendary lava lamp... His hands were all thumbs suddenly; still, he managed to lower the zip.

“Be careful,” warned Barba, “I really like this suit. Don’t want any mess on it.” He said as if talking about something extremely dirty. And he was. Oh, God he was.

When his hand touched Barba's warm skin, through the opening of his black, satiny boxer briefs, Sonny thought he might come; just from the way Barba’s penis tickled his palm.

“Go on, Detective. I know you're gagging for a taste, aren’t you?” When Sonny couldn't answer because his voice was lost somewhere on the other side of the desk, Barba continued with a snark. “Answer me! Do you want a taste or not?” Sonny nodded, licking his lips with anticipation, but Barba stopped his head from delving down. “Use your words, Detective. I need affirmative consent.”

When Sonny finally found enough courage to look up; Barba looked epitome of self confidence. One eyebrow slightly raised, and a small, almost condescending smile daring Sonny to protest.

“Yes, Counselor. I really want this.” He rushed the words out, not really caring how eager he sounded, how desperate, how wanton. “Whatever you give me. I want it.”

“Good,” His hand patted Sonny's face, gently. “That's really good to hear. Now, go on.”

And Sonny took him in his mouth. He wanted to savor the moment, in case this was a dream or hallucination, or in case he would never, ever get another chance. However, he simply inhaled that dick in as if he couldn't control himself, loudly and messily. Maybe he was in some kind of trance. Or did Barba hypnotized him? Just being his irresistible self was probably enough Sonny assumed.

“Good boy.” Barba's voice was now ragged, and Sonny was the sole reason for that. ADA Rafael Barba had finally lost the iron control over his vocal prowess and Sonny was the one behind that miracle. He was going to come in his pants; he totally was. “Remember, no mess.” Barba reminded him. Then he bent over so that his breath was tickling Sonny's ear when he whispered; slowly, stretching each syllable like they were made of molasses. “Swallow everything.”

Sonny gagged. He’d pushed himself too deep, too fast. He was doing this all wrong, as if he never had a dick in his mouth. He still couldn't gather his experience or control his muscles; he was shaking too bad for that.

“You're doing great.” said Barba, his voice was the absolution Sonny needed. He pumped his hand at the root of that delicious dick while devouring the generous wetness Barba provided him, licking and sucking the cock that he had dreamt about way too many sleepless nights.

“Just like that…” Barba continued with little snippets of encouragement. The guy could read him like an open book, probably knew how much Sonny needed those words. “Keep going.” He sounded winded, breathless even and Sonny wanted to deep throat him, to feel his dick passing through his tonsils, making itself at home in Sonny's gullet, to feel the bulge it would make in his neck… But Barba stopped his attempts, “Careful of the suit. No mess!” He reminded him of the rule as well as how he still had his mental faculties unlike Sonny who forgot a single order given to him mere minutes ago.

“Ready?” Barba asked; unnecessarily because Sonny could tell he was on the edge by the way his breath turned ragged and patchy. “Swallow!” He ordered one last time because apparently Sonny needed the reminders like a naughty puppy. He coated Sonny's mouth with his seed which Sonny eagerly kept swallowing. God Almighty! Even his jizz tasted good; Sonny had fallen too deep.

“Clean me up.” Barba ordered again, watching him like an eagle. “Go on.” And Sonny obeyed. Of course he did. He wanted to worship that dick right now, cleaning it was a privilege.

When he was done, which took longer than necessary, much longer, Barba tucked himself back in, looking like nothing untoward had happened.

“You have a little stiffy there, Detective?” He asked with that smug smile, and if Sonny wasn't too out of his mind crazy with lust, he would give the ADA the answer he deserved; but at moment he just nodded. He would even beg if he thought he could make meaningful sounds right now. “Let me see it.” Barba asked, not ordered, nonchalant and barely interested.

Sonny rushed to comply. The guy just had come, he might lose interest in anything sexual without a moment's notice and what would Sonny do then? He held himself in his palm, not daring to move.

“I don't want you to dirty the carpet.” Barba said, almost in disdain. “Spread those paper towels.” When Sonny did as ordered, he continued, “Do you want me to help you?”

“Yes.” Sonny squeaked; he only hoped that it came out as intended.

“Put it on the papers.”

On the ground? How…?

“I don't have all day, Detective.” Barba sighed, “Come on, put your manhood on the floor.” He ridiculously emphasized the word ‘manhood’.

Sonny wished he had some wit left in him to refuse. To get up and leave. Even if it was to run to the closest restroom to rub one out. But it was as if he was drugged, like he didn't have any-- Yeah, right. Who was he kidding? (Not Barba that's for sure.) Sonny wanted to lay down under Barba's feet. Had been wanting since the first time he had seen Barba in court; butchering the defense’s argument with a single, cleverly worded comment after ceremonially buttoning his jacket and giving that ungodly smirk to Sonny. It was exactly what he wanted to do and Barba was generous enough to let him; kindly. He pulled himself out and laid it right on top of the white paper towels and became very familiar with Barba's office carpet.

“Nice girth.” said Barba, benevolently, “Rather long twig.”

And God help him, Sonny started quivering under scrutiny even though no one had called his penis _that_ since his first pubic hair had appeared.

“Let me see the berries too.” Of course he wasn't done with the demands. And of course Sonny complied hurriedly. “Roll them in your hand” he said as he watched him do exactly that; also eying Sonny's dick which was impatiently twitching on the ground. “Are they full? Heavy?” Sonny nodded because now there was no way he could talk. But it wasn't enough for Barba. “When was the last time you emptied them, Detective. And look at me when you answer.”

Sonny hadn't realized his eyes were closed. He opened them, but did not look at Barba or rather at Barba's face; he focused on the shiny black leather shoes of his. “Three days.” He answered, barely audible. Barba hummed his understanding. “Please,” he begged when there was nothing else coming from Barba. “Touch me, please.”

“Get all the way down there?” He sounded reluctant, bored even. Disappointment filled Sonny; heavy and bitter. But then Barba's shoe -the one that had become Sonny's focal point- started lifting. Slowly. Gradually coming closer to Sonny's dick. Big, black, shiny. Sonny could see the shallow treads underneath it. They didn't look dirty, but… It stopped right over his dick. “Do you want it, Detective?”

“God, yes… yes please.” He would take anything.

He didn't have to check to know that the smirk turned full on arrogant on that handsome face. He just needed a touch so bad he didn't mind. But Barba didn't do it. He moved his foot down over his balls and gently, ever so slowly pressed down. Sonny could see the single cotton threads in counselor's ridiculous socks now; the way blues and yellows weaved together, creating little green polka dots matching the color of his pocket square. His body was sending totally mixed signals. Not exactly pain but slight discomfort from the ridged bottom of the shoe… exquisite pleasure from the rough handling of his testicles… urgency of his lust…

“They do feel full.” said Barba, leaning down from his seat to inspect his handiwork in a worryingly detached demeanor as if he was watching a nature documentary. Still, Sonny would come if the guy just kept talking; he was on the edge. Right on the fucking edge. When he saw the other foot coming closer, he shut his eyes.

“Look at me.” He was ordered yet again, and he followed it. Barba looked as big as his court presence from all the way down. He didn't look as composed as he sounded: Tie loose, top few buttons open; still magisterial though, sitting tall on his chair like a king on a throne…

“Come.” Barba commanded and his foot pressed down on Sonny's painful erection. The shoe grinded gently, pressing his dick's spongy head to ground, burning a million nerve endings into sensation overload...

Sonny came looking at those beautiful green eyes. He came long and violently; thrashing on the ground, his testicles and penis grounded by Barba's feet. It was the best orgasm he’d had… Ever. The tremors continued even after he stopped coming, after he squeezed the last drops of semen on the strategically placed paper towels. He kept shaking with pleasure even after Barba's feet freed him. His breath was shallow and erratic, not sending enough oxygen to his brain. Barba let him lie there, watching him intently and Sonny didn't have enough wits at the moment to feel anymore humiliation under Barba's all seeing eyes.

“Are you okay, Carisi?” He asked after a while, coming down from his chair and squatting right next to him.

“Yes.” Sonny managed to answer after the second try.

“Good. Come on.” He offered a hand for Sonny to get up, and Sonny accepted gratefully. He pulled himself together as discreetly as possible because now that he was up and not surrounded by that big, mahogany desk, he felt even more exposed.

“Sit.” Barba pushed him toward the couch, after collecting the soiled paper towels under his desk. “Drink” He gave him a tall glass of water.

Sonny would have questioned Barba's gentle tone if he hadn't seen the way his hands were shaking. And he actually was parched. Barba picked the empty glass, then sat next to him.

“Carisi… Sonny. I can call you that, right?”

And Sonny couldn't help the laugh that was bubbling up inside him. Suddenly he was cracking up on Barba's couch; folding-in-half, stomach-crunching, couldn't-breathe-through-it laugh.

“Come here.” Barba pulled him in; tugging an arm over his shoulders, he kept hugging Sonny until he was somewhat calmer. “I take it that this was the first time--”

“No! God! Was I that bad?” Sonny stumbled over the words in his haste. “I've given plenty of BJs, and I assure you--”

“No, not the sex.” smiled Barba. “Your mouth was remarkably skillful,” he added, his gaze focused on Sonny's lips. Then, he locked his eyes with Sonny's, “I meant the power play.” Sonny slid back a little in order to look at him, waiting him to explain more, “I should've talked to you beforehand, but it started organically and was going perfectly smooth. I never thought it could be your first--”

“Was that a game to you?” Dread filled Sonny, chilling his blood, freezing him starting from his extremities. What the hell he meant by a ' _game_ ’?

“What? No! Listen... I wanted everything we did, and I enjoyed everything too.” He explained while holding Sonny's chin. “Immensely.”

“There’s a ‘but’ coming.” Sonny whispered, whimpered maybe. He couldn't think a time he was more humiliated, not even when he had wrongly assumed that the very straight varsity team captain was into him.

“Of course there’s a but,” Barba rolled his eyes. “Do you really think that I’d treat you or anyone just like that? It was fun. It could be now and again when the mood strikes.” He pulled him, looking directly into his eyes. And all Sonny could think was that Barba had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. “But… I'd like to sit down right next to you too, kiss you maybe.” He asked softly.

And yes, Sonny was aware of the irony that they hadn't had any discussion before their kinky oral -and foot?- sex but Barba was asking permission for a kiss now. He moved slowly and Barba met him halfway. It wasn't a particularly passionate kiss. It was soft. Lovely. A peck even, except Barba licked Sonny's lips with the tip of his tongue. Sonny wanted the time to slow down so that he could savor the moment.

“Like that.” He said afterwards without parting; his lips brushing Sonny's. “Exactly like that.”

Sonny felt stupid now. Such meaningless outburst, a totally insecure tantrum. Obviously it was a power play, it wasn't like he expected -even wanted- to kneel in front of Barba each time he wanted intimacy. (Not that he would say no if that was necessary; he wasn't going to lie to himself.)

“I don't know what came over me.” He said sheepishly.

“It's called sub-drop.” explained Barba, like reciting state law. “My mistake.” He pulled Sonny tighter; guiding Sonny's head to his shoulder, one hand gently playing with his hair, fingertips massaging his scalp. “Are you familiar with the concept?”

He wasn't. What kind of an SVU detective he was? What was Barba going to think of him: a boring, vanilla cop who--

“Hey,”  Barba pulled him tighter, effectively stopping his train of thought. “It's due to hormonal imbalance; mostly endorphin and adrenaline crash after an intense scene. Causes disorientation, pessimism, anxiousness...”

“Oh.” That probably could explain why Sonny felt so wrong now, like he wasn't even himself. Like he was too drunk to keep a train of thought and at the same time sober enough to feel the morbid humiliation because of it. “Why’s that your fault?”

“Went too deep, too fast.” He shrugged. “I should've paced you, taken it easy.”

“Yeah,” snickered Sonny, “like you ever take anything easy.”

“Talking back is usually a good sign.” Barba smiled, then got up, pulling Sonny up too. “Have you eaten? You should eat. My treat.” He hurried them toward the door. “Food and chocolate cake. That's the perfect remedy.”

Just before stepping outside, Sonny stopped.

“It was intense, right?” He was still reeling from the way he emptied not only his balls but his soul on those crumbled papers.

“Believe me, the most intense scene I’ve ever experienced.” Barba said with a shit eating grin that did something in Sonny's nether regions. “I am in need of a good chocolate cake myself.”

 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> power-play, sub-drop, slight CBT, a slight confusion but everything is totally consensual.
> 
> The real end notes:  
> As explained in the story, this isn't good BDSM practice, folks. I honestly expected more from Barba, but he can't help being an asshole sometimes. In his defense, what was he supposed to think while Sonny hungrily staring at his shoes?
> 
> Also, although it's usually called sub-drop, an intense scene can apparently affect doms as well. And who knew, chocolate is good for that too. Always keep some for emergencies.


	6. Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my betas: Lyssa13 and tobeconspicuous, the chapter finally makes sense. The remaining mistakes are mine; mostly because I'm emotional about my punctuation. (Love you unnecessary semicolon!)

 

_1871 FURNISHED APARTMENTS_  
62ND ST AND PARK AVENUE  
FRIDAY EVENING, JUNE 24

 

The big screen television was running a commentary on the most recent scandal that would supposedly shake the Capitol and the whole nation. Rafael let the sound wash over him while rechecking witness statements for the umpteenth time, trying to catch a break in his current case.

“This place is definitely better than your apartment.” Rita commented, placing a large dinner plate on the glass coffee table before him. She had insisted serving their take-out on porcelain plates for a more dignified dining experience. “An actually working wine opener is a huge plus.”

“You know if we go out and dine in the restaurants like God intended, all of your complaints would vanish.” He tucked the papers in his hand into the briefcase and got up to help his guest. If forcing herself into someone's house with no invitation or courtesy call could be called that.

“Sit down.” She ordered while pushing him back to the couch. “You know I can't be seen socializing with you, Raf. I'll lose my potential clients if gossip of us being friendly ever springs up.”

“But gossip of you visiting me, at my place, at night is okay?”

She sat down on the floor just like she had enjoyed while they had been students, gorging on microwaved Ramen noodles while trying to finish the latest paper Professor Lionel assigned.  But this time instead of cut off jeans, she was in her tailored suit skirt which creeped all the way up to her thighs, above her stockings.

“You well know if anyone thinks we're doing it, they're thinking I'm the one dominating you.” She answered playfully while raising her glass.

“Excuse me?” He played along and tipped his tumbler, clinking it gently against hers.

“Come on, Raf.” She said and gulped half of her glass. “People witnessed you being strangled with a belt... by the accused... for a BDSM show-and-tell... in courtroom.”

“So?”

“So… it's not too hard for people to believe our sexual business is more along the lines of me whipping you,” she accentuated her statement with a flamboyant whip of her hand, “while you put your snarky mouth in much better use.”

Rafael almost choked on the meatball he had been enjoying. “That's... quite specific, Rita.”

“It's an image I enjoy when you keep dragging along your opening statements.” She confessed, after playfully slurping a forkful of spaghetti. “And don't worry, at the moment, you need all kind of heterosexual escapade gossip you can get.”

“I doubt the talks of me being dominated by a defense attorney is gonna help my credibility.”

“Believe me, it's better than people talking about how much you enjoy taking it up the--”

“Okay! Jesus, Rita!” He stopped her, waving his fork over the plates. “Let's be civil while eating.” His undeliberate outing by New York’s Finest was still a sore subject. The supposedly hushed threat assessment had gotten out of hand so fast and so bad that one might think Rafael was turning tricks in Midtown every night as soon as finishing his closing statements.

“Pfft,” was her cultured response. “Come on, Raf.” She raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow up. Rafael still remembered her -supposedly- all natural look when she had been a passionate law student, all about freedom and rights. “You’re certainly not helping your case by keeping that love sick puppy around.”

He wasn't going to insult either of their intelligence by feigning ignorance.

“So, people talk, huh?”

“Really? _People talk_? That's your eloquent circumlocution to avoid the subject?” She knew how to pick at his erroneous ways; almost as good as his mother.

“Who says I want to avoid it.” He gave in. He knew that's why Rita was here tonight; she demanded her tribute in form of juicy gossip. No need to delay the inevitable any longer. And her smile -cunning as usual but also adorably mischievous which was never visible in public- was worth it. “...Or I **did** avoid.”

“You didn't!” He savored her shock before she could pull herself together. Rita Calhoun, know it all extraordinaire, hadn't seen this one coming. “You did. And you haven't told me? You know there will be consequences.” Her eyes turned to slits, not enemious like in court, but more frisky. “Now you have to give me a foot massage.” She unfolded one leg and passed it under the coffee table, sending her foot all the way to his lap.  

Rafael looked down at the silk covered foot resting dangerously close to his privates.

“You do remember I'm not 100% gay, right?” He complained, but grasped the said appendage, eliciting a loud moan from Rita.

“Your hands, Raf. I'd marry you for them...” she started flirtatiously, but her tone turned serious, **“...if** you **weren't** gay, honey.” She stopped his protests with a raised finger. “We both were there when my pussy couldn't tickle your dick.”

“And the reason couldn't possibly be your abhorrent character but my sexuality.” Rafael continued the age old banter while keeping his fingers work over the arch of Rita's foot.

“In our twenties? No fucking w-- Oh, God! Right there. You're a genius, Raf.” She mellowed out, exactly like a wild cat indulging on cream. It wouldn't last long, but, seeing Rita Calhoun like this under his hands gave Rafael a good ego burst nonetheless.

She laid back on the thick carpet, lifting herself on her elbows and changed the foot in Rafael's hand.

“Are you using your super powers on him too?” She asked after another deep moan, wiggling her foot to clear her meaning.

“I haven't given him a footy if that's what you're asking.”

“Gave him something better?” Side of her mouth crept up suggestively.

Rafael shoved her foot down. “I see that you have had enough, Counselor.”

She raised a single eyebrow as if trying to intimidate a rather brazen kid to behave.They both knew Rafael would comply eventually, but the knock on the door stopped the topic on hand.

“Don't tell me he's visiting?” Rita tried to push her skirt down.

“Could be.” Rafael answered, not being able to control the smile that blossomed on his face. He was not waiting _per se,_ more like hoping that he would show up. “He likes checking up on me, takes the death threats very seriously.”

“Right, death threats.” She scoffed; she didn't believe the danger as she had expressed many times before. “I would have to rent a storage unit just for the letters if I kept them.” A unifying problem for judges, district attorneys and defense lawyers.

He checked the peephole as had drilled to him; but instead of Carisi, there was a girl. About fifteen, dark, long hair; a denim skirt so short that was barely visible under her wide, white belt, and a red top that was pushing public decency limits. Yeah… not good. In this neighborhood, at his supposedly secret hideout... This couldn't be a coincidence.

“Por favor, Senõr Barba. Please…” She raised her head, crying; her makeup running, painting thin, dark lines over her petite, heart shaped face. Rafael knew her. She had been a material witness against a very nasty pimp a year or so ago. But she refused to talk on the stand. They had lost her right after the recess. Now, she looked even younger than the last time he had seen her. “Please open the door,  please, please, please...” She didn't even know that he was watching, but still kept begging. Her despair felt heavy, like another soul trying to enter his home.

“Rita, call 911!” He yelled pulling his gun from the console table drawer and unlocked the door to let the girl in.

“I’ve no bars!” He heard Rita’s panicked yelp; at the same time the door burst opened, throwing him all the way back to the wall.  

He held onto the gun and tried to keep his head while three guys rushed into his apartment. Then Alex entered, Alejandro Muñoz. His oldest -and former- friend.

_“Hola, amigo_!” He greeted Rafael with a sinister grin that looked completely out of place on that familiar face. “Got you now.”

  
TBC...


	7. Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end notes for the warnings for this chapter. If you decide not to, read at your own risk. Remember the threats Barba received, they weren't jokes.
> 
> And in my hurry to write a warning it seems like I deleted my thanks to my beautiful betas tobeconspicous and Lyssa13. They made this chapter more readeble. The remaining mistakes are all mine.

_1871 FURNISHED APARTMENTS_  
62ND ST AND PARK AVENUE  
FRIDAY EVENING, JUNE 24

 

No bars, no reception... In the middle of Manhattan, with great Wi-Fi too because Raf couldn't live without it, and the phone wasn't working… It couldn't be a coincidence, someone must have been jamming the signal.

Although it happened in matter of seconds, Rita watched the scene unfold in front of her eyes as if it was in slow motion: Rafael hitting the wall, sliding down, crumbling on the floor; people-- men filling the narrow entryway; one with a gun trained on Rita, with a smile reminding her some of her worst clients, mouthing _“Don't”._

It was far from the first time Rita faced the barrel, but it was the first time she felt her life was actually in danger. She couldn't even look at the guy holding it, couldn't shift her focus to the faces filling the small apartment. Her whole world shrank to that small, circular void; surrounded with shiny gray metal. A solemn oracular entity, humming the song of damnation. Then she heard him, Alex Muñoz. And something other than fear found its way to her psyche: Contempt. Strong enough to overcome the siren-like pull of the Sig Sauer she was facing.

Rita hated Alex Muñoz. She was mature enough to accept that it was partly based on jealousy. Yes, she was jealous. Jealous of how Alex had his easy friendship even after everything he had done to Raf. But mostly, her hatred based on that one night at Harvard when -after drinking himself to a place where he couldn't keep up his impenetrable walls any longer- Rafael had wept on her shoulder. That night Rafael had confessed how worthless he’d felt from the way Alex using him for quick orgasms and never acknowledging the fact even when they were alone; unless he’d wanted another quicky. He had admitted the betrayal that burned him when Alex had stolen Yelina, the big love of young Rafael, and not even deemed it appropriate to apologise because ‘ _Rafi, you can't be serious with a girl, now, right?’_ Still… Rafael had been blind and loyal to him, **THE** childhood friend from Bronx. Always meeting him with a wide smile and even wider arms. Even after the big fallout when Alex threw a fit because Raf put a stop to their friends with benefits arrangement, pointing out Alex's relationship with Yelina.

Rafael, who never had any problem erasing someone from his life upon a single mistake, had forgiven Alex with something akin to a saint’s compassion. And it had been driving Rita crazy. She had to carve her place in the extremely small inner circle of Rafael Barba. She still had to work hard to maintain their delicate friendship after all these years.

But not Alex Muñoz, never him.

She hadn't lied to herself about the orgasmic pleasure of watching the news on the guy's predatory behavior. Also about the pleasure of knowing that it finally become clear to Rafael too who Alex actually was. She had always known the bastard was simply using Rafael, and finally Raf had seen it too. Finally.

Now though…

“Oooo… You decided to become a man, huh, _Abogado_.” said one of the goons, looking at the gun at Rafael's hand with an upward tilt of his head; probably to compensate his short stature. He was wearing a skin-tight, white wife beater that showed off the tattoos covering his arms all the way to his neck. “You sure you can shoot all of us.” He laughed; snooty and cruel, “or even single one of us?”

“Don't have to.” Rafael sounded winded, but his usual sass was still present and Rita felt a tiny bit more proud of him, of his courage. “A single gunshot and SWAT will fill this building, right away.”

“Can ye do it before I give ‘er a Colombian necktie?” Another guy who was keeping the little girl in chokehold said with a heavy Scottish accent. He was big; tall and wide, arms-bulging-through-his-leather-jacket-bigger-than-the-girl's-head big. A nasty looking scar running from the top of his bald head all the way back to his neck gave him a monstrous look. Not as monstrous as the sharpness of his almost white, ice-blue eyes though.

“He wouldn't care.” Alex took over, after closing the door firmly behind him. “She’ll be just another witness you couldn't protect, right, _amigo_. Dead because **you** wanted to win.”

Rita knew -probably before Rafael-- that he wasn't gonna pull that trigger. Not when a little girl was crying and shaking under the arms of that monster of a man. Not when the last time Rafael had lost a witness, -quite terribly too, burned alive for Christ's sake- Rita had been the one putting him in bed; all passed out, drunk mostly on his misery and guilt. Raf looked at Rita for a moment and she nodded her understanding. She wasn't expecting anything different.

“Give that to me.” The tattoo guy grabbed the gun.

The rest became more of a blur for a while because the one keeping a gun on her hit her hard when she unintentionally screamed seeing the others beating Raf. She fell down to the floor with the strength of the slap, her face smarting, a headache growing, starting from the throbbing cheekbone the pistol had smashed.

They beat Rafael in a relentless, merciless, ferocious frenzy. He was curled up defenseless on the floor, trying to protect his head within his arms, emitting involuntary _'umph umph_ ’ sounds with each kick to stomach. After a while Alex stepped forward and lifted Rafael's bloodied face, assuming the leader role easily.

“You made so many enemies, Rafi, you couldn't even know who was sending those messages,huh?” He sneered; there was something more in his hatred of Rafael, something deeper and older than your usual prosecutor - accused grudge. “The funny thing, when I met one of those enemies, it's like I met all of them. You tend to send them to same place so that they can mingle, and plan their revenge.”

“So, the great savior Alex Muñoz isn't above to deal with convicted criminals.” Rafael talked back, raising on hands and knees; spitting out blood. “You just proved yourself--”

He couldn't finish his sentence when the tattoo boy kicked him on the side. “Still mighty as shit.” He spat on Raf. “Like he's better than everyone. _Pedazo de mierda_!”

“The sesquipedalian phrasing stunts me.” Rafael grunted, then looked up at Alex. “Who's he?” He nodded toward the tattoo boy. “BX9? You playing with gangster-wanna-be’s now? After all you've been complaining about their damage to _el barrio_?”

“You don't remember me?” The boy yelled, his face turning to an ugly red, blotched and sweaty. “You remember what you said to jury? Cleaning the **poisonous filth** from the streets?”

“The filth I prosecute is dime a dozen, I can't remember you all.” Raf said, rolling his eyes.

Rita knew Rafael wasn’t stupid, but she couldn't fathom why he was goading his capturers like that. Not until Alex stopped the angry gangbanger kicking Raf. “He's playing you, Mateo. He’s trying to put a wedge between us.” He walked like predator and squatted in front of Rafael. “And he's trying to postpone the inevitable. You guessed our plan already, haven't you, Rafi? Always too smart for your own good; _chico loco loco_.”

“Shut the fock up, Muñoz.” The leather jacket growled, “Keep the speech fer yer fockin’ campaign.” He threw the girl he was holding like a rag doll. She collapsed after hitting the wall and didn’t move again.

If Alex was bristled by the guy’s attitude, he didn't show it in the slightest. Either a teflon politician or a really good actor. Probably both.

“Sure thing, Ferris. What do you want?”

“His fockin’ mouth.” He held Rafael's chin and tugged him up. “I'm gonna make ye eat yer fockin’ words, Coonselur. Remember ‘em?”

“A rapist and a low life.” Barba emphasized each word, somehow managing to look down on the guy from where he kneeled. “Of course, I remember. Even prostitutes didn't put out for you, you had to rape them to get some.”

“That's the smirk!” Ferris snarled, “I wanted to fock that smirk for six fockin’ years.”

“If you want me to bite it off.” Rafael hissed, yanking his head back to get free from Ferris' meaty fingers.

Rita didn't know exactly when she understood what _the plan_ was, only that she suddenly wanted to throw up regardless of the headache she was enduring. Maybe because of it; concussion was no joke. It was quite possible that she had hit her head on the wall too when pistol whipped by the silent guy. The details were still hazy.

“Is that so? I'm guessin’ fockin’ yer lady friend’s face’ll erase that smirk just fine then?”  He asked facing Rafael but pointing at Rita. The nausea crept up dangerously. She knew closing her eyes would help with both the headache and queasiness, but she could not. Raf was looking at her. He was scared. Rita was too. She realized she was crying. Horrifying! In front of these bastards. “Which one is it? Ye or ‘er?”

“Please…” Rafael didn't sound like himself, there was no fight in his voice, no fury. “Don't touch her.” The bald Scot pulled his dick out of his jeans with a sleazy grin. “Alex,” Rafael begged -and wasn't it something to hear him beg, for the first time in 30 some years. His eyes searching for something, must probably for a sliver of hope on his oldest friend's face. _“Por favor, mano._ ”

“He'll be better than the old hag.” Alex said, without breaking the eye contact with Rafael. “I can guarantee that. He used to beg me to fuck his face. Isn't that right, Rafi?” Then, he added sarcastically, emphasizing each syllable; a cold, cruel smile adorning his words, “ _Mi mano._ ”

His hate was clearly deeper than the recent perception of betrayal. If she wasn't scared shitless at the moment Rita would've laughed at her stupidity. Alex envied Raf. Envied his freedom, his acceptance, his courage. He must have liked Rafael when they were young; loved him even. Rita was sure that Raf had reciprocated, openly; invited Alex into something dangerous for their time and place. Into something thrilling, intoxicating and explosive... And doing so, he must have become the scapegoat for Alex's inner turmoils. Surely, it had been easier to blame the _fag_ than himself. She couldn't tell exactly when Alex’s feelings had started to fester. Did it happen as soon as he realized how his body reacted to Raf? Or after when Raf refused to go down on him anymore, effectively stopping Alex's only safety valve; forcing him to face the fact that it wasn't Raf who needed it, who wanted it, fucking craved it? She just couldn't tell how long Alex had been nurturing his desire with hatred so that it turned into this venomous abomination in front of her.  

She wanted to get up, scream at the bastard that making Rafael suffer wasn't gonna make him feel any better about himself. That he would still be gay, would still hate himself, hate his fucking miserable life where he couldn't find satisfaction…

Ferris’s face split with an ugly grin that pulled his face asymmetrically toward the head scar when he pushed himself into Rafael’s mouth. Rita closed her eyes to stop witnessing the brutal face fucking Raf was enduring. However, as effectively as she could block out the images of Rafael's eyes bulging, face turning purple, nose clogging with blood and snot, she just couldn't avoid the sounds. The sounds that told her everything that was happening a mere few feet away. The perpetual plopping sound didn't leave much to imagination on how fast Ferris was pounding while the continuous gagging clearly depicted how deep he was pushing in. The sporadic and urgent inhales attested to how bad it was for Raf; that he was struggling to breathe.

“I want his picture.” Ferris grunted and the lawyer in Rita wanted to scream. She heard the clicking sounds of digital shutters, and yes, they were stupid enough to record their felony. “Fock! Look at ‘im. That's what I wanted to see.”

“Yeah?” Mateo sounded impatient, “I wanna fuck him like he did me in court. Be quick, will you?”

A loud shattering sound shocked Rita and forced her to open her eyes. It was the centerpiece on the coffee table; the large glass bowl filled with colorful, tiny marbles. Rafael had made fun of them earlier tonight, about how as kids they used to play marbles on the streets. How owning this many would have meant that he was the king of the marbles back in the days, that he had robbed each and every kid in the neighborhood of theirs. A conversation from another era even though it had happened less than an hour ago.

“Ye don't hae to wait.” Ferris the giant said, pulling Rafael on the coffee table while pushing the dinner plates down in a messy heap. He, then, took his place again in front of Raf, facing Rita this time. He winked at her while scratching the red bush that was circling his purple dick before pushing it in Raf’s mouth. Not a malicious wink. A playful one. Like it was a big joke they were sharing, something they all would laugh about afterwards.

Mateo moved in between them, effectively cutting the bizarre eye contact. And Rita might have been grateful if it wasn't for the guy pulling Raf's pants down, tearing down the soft, navy blue fabric in the process. Rafael started to thrash and kick. Then stopped, almost limp… Was he…? Did they…?

She couldn't see anything from where she sat, but couldn't manage to move a finger let alone slide to the side to get better sight. To convince herself that Raf wasn't… Then she heard Rafael inhaling and coughing almost at the same time. He was alive. For now.

Her head was killing her, vision getting blurrier and nausea stronger. If only she could stop hearing. It was selfish, but she didn't want to witness this. Didn't want to hear the grunts escaping from the perverts, the _shlop shlop_ noises of flesh forcing itself deep in a mouth, the disgusting cough of Mateo spitting saliva, and the scream… anguished, almost animalistic scream Raf let out through his stuffed mouth. Oh, God! They were killing him.

“I thought you said he was a fag. He’s tighter than clam’s ass.” Mateo grunted, “Jeeee-susss!”

Rita threw up, bending to the side. Her insides were reeling violently and her headache thumped with each involuntary expulsion.

“Christ! That's disgusting.” Someone said but everything was behind a blurry cloud now. She was losing it. She fell. Last thing she felt was the warm, mushy vomit on her cheek.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is explicit rape scene in this chapter. It's violent and full of homophobic insults. If rape is a triggering subject for you, please do not read.


	8. Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the warnings from last chapter? More violence for this one.  
> And since I feel guilty about putting my pretty through all that, I'm posting the next chapter (chapter 9) right away.  
> I can't thank enough to my betas Lyssa13 and tobeconspicous. The remaining mistakes are all mine.

 

__ 1871 FURNISHED APARTMENTS  
62ND ST AND PARK AVENUE  
FRIDAY EVENING, JUNE 24 

 

Disgusting pigs... Pounding at the fucker like dogs in heat; splattering sweat and saliva everywhere, breathing loud and heavy as if they were running a marathon and not enjoying but a few minutes of a fucking quickie. If it wasn't for the satisfaction of seeing the pompous lawyer being reduced to a crying, begging whore, Samuel would've left already.

“Ye ain't joining the fun, coppe’?”

Also, his partners in vengeance might get suspicious if he had done so.

“Your sloppy leftovers? I don't think so.”

Alex gave him a wicked look then. He was smart, unlike the other two. He didn't leave any evidence in a Manhattan ADA’s crime scene either; no fingerprints, no DNA, not a fucking photo… They didn't need to talk about it. From the start, they both knew who would get the blame and who would get away with it.

“But I know other ways to have fun.” He said to the restless Scot. A method that wouldn't leave any DNA behind and would be satisfying as hell.

The idea had come to him as soon as he’d seen the saber legged dining chairs in the posh living room. Life of luxury for the bastard paid by the taxpayers of New York State. This was going to be poetic. He broke the elegant chair with a single kick.

“You're sick, man. Jesus Christ!”  said the gangbanger, watching him with awe.

Samuel checked Alex, but the giddy glint in his eyes told him Munóz wasn't going to object it either.

“You guys are finished, right?” Samuel asked, “He isn't gonna be good for anything after I'm done with him.”

They laughed like hyenas. Ferris backed away from the coffee table; opening up some space, offering the sniveling lawyer like a sacrificial lamb. Samuel raised the wooden piece then brought it down on Barba with a very satisfying crunch.

“Wake up, Counselor.” He yelled, hitting him on the other side before Barba could finish sucking air to howl. “You don't want to miss this.”

Rafael Barba wriggled like a beheaded worm on the coffee table.

“Enough… Please…” He gasped, barely audible. He didn't sound like that arrogant son of bitch at the moment; the one insisting on going to the trial, refusing the plea, forcing Samuel to endure the abject humiliation-- He hit him one more time, breaking his teeth and the glass table he was lying on in the process.

“Don't kill him yet.” Alex stopped him, “not after promising such fun.”

Yeah. This would be much better if Barba was alert enough to feel it.

“Sorry I forgot bringing lube, Counselor. But then, you'd start throwing words like ‘premeditated’ and let's not go there...”

Mateo snickered, repeating the word  _ premeditated _ again and again. And Samuel wanted to split his skull too. That he was reduced to work with such low lives was a fucking insult to the injury. Samuel used to catch guys like that. He had served and protected until this stick up his ass ADA stopped him. Samuel was only going to turn the phrase literal.

Barba started thrashing with whatever energy reserve he had left and they all had to hold a piece of him to keep the bastard down. His asshole was bloody already, but luckily not dirty with something else to gross out Samuel. He placed the thin end of the wooden leg at the lawyer's ass. It slid almost easily at first, blood was slick enough on the varnished surface. But when the engraved curve of the leg reached to the asshole, it stuck.

“Wiggle it a little.” Alex asked, greedily watching the action. “Don't start forcing it just yet.”

The guy was either knew a thing or two about torture or he was quite the pervert. Either case, Samuel listened to him and the leg moved further in, albeit laboriously. Barba was gurgling and squealing; eyes rolling back in their sockets, mouth foaming like an animal. A filthy fucking animal.

“A fockin’ foot in 'im. Fock!”

Fuck indeed. But it didn't matter how much Samuel wiggled the wooden piece, it didn't go any deeper.

“Ready?” He looked at Alex; only seeking his confirmation. Alex nodded and Samuel placed his foot at the end of the wooden leg sticking out of Barba's ass. Then pushed. It resisted at first, didn't move a fraction of an inch even though Barba kept yowling. And suddenly, something gave and the whole thing went in with a sickening squelch, like a dull skewer tearing a fatty brisket apart, until Samuel’s foot was resting on Barba's butt. He, then, kicked the now pliant man’s gonads for good measure.

“Did it come out from his belly?” asked Mateo; squatting low, trying to see under the broken table.

“Nah. Would reek like a sewer, torn stomach.” Ferris shared his wisdom on the matter.

Mateo gave out a disappointed sigh and got up. “He look dead.”

“It'd take more to kill him.” Alex said, “He's been through the bender a few times. Tougher than he looks.”

“I'll do th’ honors.” Ferris unsheathed his knife; a big scary looking, partly serrated, shiny metal. Perfect for slaughtering animals.

But the door rang and everyone stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samuel is someone we know from the show. We have never given his first name, but not too hard to guess. Still, I'm not revealing the last name until later.


	9. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it, this is the second chapter published today. 
> 
> And finally we're in the "after"... Thanks to my betas Lyssa13 and tobeconspicous. The remaining mistakes are all mine.

_INTERNAL AFFAIRS BUREAU_  
1 POLICE PLAZA PATH  
MONDAY, JUNE 27 

 

All his years on the force and Sonny hasn't been in IAB interrogation room before. Of course, he hasn't shot or killed anyone either, bystander or perp. Until now that is. It is surprisingly bright inside, opposite of the rooms in their precinct. Sun is shining through the floor to ceiling windows, barely hindered by the white blinds. It also smells a lot fresher than theirs. As far as he can tell there aren't any one way mirrors either. Instead he looks right at a camera with his Union Rep on his side.

“Thank you for coming, Detective Carisi.” The young guy, Andy, says, he might be younger than Sonny. “How’s ADA Barba?”

“Still critical.”

“He'll pull through.” Captain Ryan tries to convince Sonny, or himself. “Barba is a fighter.”

Sonny can't respond to the sentiment. They didn’t see Barba in that room. Sonny did.

“Tell us what happened, Detective. We just need this on record.”

His Union Rep tried to get him a mock interrogation, but Sonny declined. He can't do this more than once. Everyone agrees that the shootings were justified, no need to torture himself more than necessary.

“Sure.” He nods, hopefully it will get easier once he starts talking about it. “We've been checking on ADA Barba since he refused the previous protection detail.”

“Can you explain, ‘we’?” Andy is eager, as if he's asking crucial questions to solve a big mystery instead of getting a routine statement. He reminds Sonny of himself when he first joined SVU, trying to impress his superiors and colleagues all the time. Sonny might be even his first case.

“Mostly Sergeant Tutuola and myself. Lieutenant and Detective Rollins have kids at home, they can't get too much OT, but they pitched in too.”

“You were checking on him...”

“Yes. We made sure he didn't stay at his apartment, found a safehouse with security.” He sighs. “Look how good it turned out.” Sonny got euphoric when Carmen found that apartment, slept well for the first time since he had learned about the threats. They all fell for the obviously fake safety it provided: No need for protective detail after they delivered Barba to this apartment. “I wasn't gonna visit him. It was the weekend and he said he wasn't going to leave the apartment... But I...”

“So this visit wasn’t official but social?”

“Does that really matter?” Sonny is slowly getting nervous; if they keep asking each and every unrelated detail, he's never going to come to the part where he shot the bastards.

“You know it does, Detective.” The captain finally speaks, “But, let's move on. How did you enter the apartment?”

“I rang the bell, and heard footsteps… More than one person... I knew that Barba wasn't having a party… And I knew something was wrong.” He felt it in his bones, the dread was almost suffocating. “I broke the door. And saw clear evidence of wrongdoing.”

“For example?” Andy is taking notes, and for some unfathomable reason it starts grating Sonny's nerves.

“For starters, I could see a girl lying on the floor.” He could only see her legs from the entryway, but the prone way she lied there was more than enough warning. The very first thing he actually noticed was how messy the place was. Barba is tidy to the point of OCD, he wouldn't let his apartment get that messy unless it was life or death.

“Please continue, Detective.” Captain Ryan nudges him, “Can you tell us more about the scene?”

“I thought he was dead.” Sonny says, his voice wavering. This is harder than he thought; much harder. Something hard sits in his throat, doesn't allow him to breathe let alone speak. He can still see it right in front of  his eyes: He walks in toward the living room and Barba's broken body shows up behind the wall, lying on shattered glass, all bloody and practically naked… Arms and legs in awkward, unnatural angles... His face swollen, jaw crooked… Sonny could have sworn it was a corpse. Before he could determine whether or not Barba was breathing, he saw a hideous looking guy with a small machete, ready to struck. “I saw Ferris McHenry with a big knife, standing over Barba. He was going to cut his throat. I shot him.”

“After announcing yourself as police, of course.” offers Captain.

“Yeah, sorry, I did that before entering the apartment. Then, Little Mateo pulled his gun and I shot him too. Then, I checked on Barba. He was alive.” Barely. Sonny was covered in blood by the time he caught the faintest pulse and the shallow breaths. “After that I called for a bus.”

“That's all, Detective Carisi.” Captain Ryan offers his hand, “Thank you for coming.”

“Oh, okay.” For all the stories he heard about the IAB, he wasn't expecting it to be this short. They didn't even ask whether or not he knew the perps beforehand. Or how many times he shot? Not that he can answer that question with certainty. “I was-- Wait!” He sits back, how did he miss this? How did they all?

“You remembered something different?”

“The footsteps…” Sonny babbles, he can hear them right at this moment; running inside Barba's apartment; quick, almost panicky pitter patter of feet on soft carpet.

“You told us that, Detective.”

“No, no. I heard footsteps when I rang the bell, but Ferris and Little Mateo hadn't moved. They were standing right on top of Barba.” Shit, shit!  “There must have been others!” And he let them run away. Then the gravity of it dawns on him. “They are out there! I need to call--”

“Detective, calm down, please.” Captain is epitome of serenity. “We already knew that.”

“What?”

“Captain Logan sent us the preliminary findings. CSU shows four different shoe prints in the blood splatter. Other than yours and EMTs.”

“So, let's discuss how did you miss two perps in a tiny Manhattan apartment, Detective.” Andy doesn't have that friendly youth mask any longer.

“What?” Sonny just realized the fact that there were others, how the hell do they expect him to answer this question?

“Or, let's discuss why you stopped by without calling ADA Barba?” Andy continues as if Sonny didn't speak. “We found no calls coming or going into his phone that night.”

They are interrogating him, he realizes. All those smiles and affirmations at the beginning was just a ruse. Something Sonny uses all the time but he still fell into it nonetheless.

“Detective.” Captain looks grim, “Why didn't you call before ‘ _checking on’_ Barba?”

His Union Rep starts objecting, but Captain Ryan silence the poor fellow. They have every right to question him.

“I didn't want to give him a chance to say no.” Sonny says. He realizes how it sounds as soon as the words escape his mouth; so he hurries to explain, “He wasn't taking the threat seriously, you see. Always joking, trying to end even what we established… If I called him, he might have said _Don't bother me, Detective.”_

“Try to look at it from our point of view, **_Detective_ **.” Andy pushes his chair back, straightening his back. “You had intimate knowledge of the security. You went there uninvited and not on an official capacity. You shot two convicted criminals, conveniently to death, but allowed two others to escape.”

“I’m the last person--”

“Why's that, Detective?” Captain asks, and he sounds so cold that Sonny shievers.

“I… I’m… Can you turn off the camera?” They do, and Sonny continues, “I'm gay, okay. I don't want to advertise on the force for obvious reasons but I've been out since high school. So, I'm the last person to go crazy gay bashing a Manhattan ADA.” There he said it.

“We knew that too.” says Andy, turning the camera back on. They must have been studying him. “The reason of you jumping from precinct to precinct isn't as secret as you think.”

Great!

“Then why? I totally appreciate that you guys are looking anywhere and everywhere to catch whoever did this to Barba and Ms Calhoun... as long as you don't spend all your time and effort on me.”

“We're IAB, Detective. As an NYPD employee in this sensitive case, you are our focus.” Andy explains.

“I have no reason to hurt him.” tries Carisi. How can they think that he could do anything to hurt Barba? “I do like the guy for God's sake.”

“You were obsessed with him, more likely.” Andy says nonchalantly.

“What?” What the hell is going on. Sonny feels like he's fallen into a rabbit hole. Is this how the suspects he squeezes into a corner feel like? When they are actually innocent, of course.

“Did he refuse your advances, Detective?” Captain raises over the desk, suddenly looking bigger, taller and a lot meaner. “Or hurt your sensibilities with his bitter humor? Did you want to hurt him as he hurt you?”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You think I… I--”

“Raped him, Detective. That's the word you're looking for.” Andy says, “Did you rape him?”

“No! I would never harm-”

“Maybe you were planning something less serious? It got out of control with the convicts involved. You had to stop them.” Andy is obviously trying to sound reasonable, to build rapport, but he's shit at it.

They really do believe Sonny is involved and they're not gonna look at anything else seriously until he sets them straight about him and Barba. He remembers the last time he had seen him, before the nightmare night. Eyes, oh so gentle, staring at Sonny's under the soft light of his bedroom... Fucking him in a maddeningly slow rhythm; rocking on top of him; hips grinding Sonny into the bed; cock expertly massaging his prostate... Kissing him; soft, almost delicate on his lips; hungry and passionate along his neck; fervent, coveting bites on his shoulders... His hand on Sonny's dick, keeping his orgasm at bay, but also keeping him on the edge; compelling Sonny to beg for more and for a break at the same time... He remembers the way Barba talked; his voice hushed and sweet: _“You're so fucking tight, Sonny.”... “You feel amazing.”... “Shhh, it's okay.”…  “A little longer, huh?”... “Can you hold on a bit more?”... “Good boy!”..._

Explaining that he actually did have some kind of relationship -Sonny isn't sure what to call it, not yet- with Barba would surely stop their craziness. Maybe. But he can't betray Barba's trust. The guy had been through hell, he would appreciate as much control in his life as he can get at the moment. Also, considering IAB’s reputation, they might use that bit of information to find another way to blame him; jealous boyfriend, scorned lover...

“If you want, you can keep me under surveillance or whatever the fuck you feel you need to do. As long as there's protection on Barba's door so that one of the perps can't finish the job they fucking started, okay?” He gets up, buttoning his jacket. “And we're done here.”

“No, we're not!” Andy jumps up, but Sonny doesn't let him continue.

“Either arrest me or let me go.” He says, “Next time, call my lawyer for an appointment.”

He walks out.

TBC...


	10. Prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my wonderful betas tobeconspicous and Lyssa13. The remaining mistakes are all mine.

LENOX HILL HOSPITAL   
76TH ST AND PARK AVE  
MONDAY EVENING, JUNE 27

 

“Will you pray with me?” Lucia asks, and how could Sonny say no to those red, wet eyes; clearly hadn’t slept since she got to the hospital. Sonny doesn't know who informed her; going to her house in the middle of night, knocking on her door, waking her up to give the most dreadful news. He's sure it couldn't be a Uni. It must have been Fin or Amanda. Maybe both. Driving her in the middle of the night to the hospital, to the unknown. Trying to calm her and maybe themselves too on the way.

He kneels together with her, looking at his broken-- friend on the pristine white hospital bed. Barba is barely visible under the mound of bandages. Tufts of his hair are sticking out here and there, some strands still flaked with dried blood. One arm is bare all the way up to his shoulder -aside from few butterfly closures over thin cuts- revealing sickly yellowish tone of his skin. And one swollen-shut eye which looks more like a big, purple bruise. That's it. That's all that's visible of Rafael Barba. His other eye is completely covered after the reconstruction surgery to treat the orbital blowout fracture. The rest of his face is behind a pale blue oxygen mask that keeps his lungs in working condition, preventing the recurrence of traumatic pneumothorax. Both legs and one arm are in casts due to luxation; one elbow partially, two ankles and a knee completely dislocated. His chest is bandaged to prevent accidental jostling of broken ribs. And Sonny knows the most sinister of his injuries are hidden under the thin hospital blanket as the doctor didn't refrain explaining what is -and can go- wrong with Barba. The guy's white Mont Blanc checked off items on some kind of a list while talking, each one was more morbid and lurid than the previous.

“Glorious Archangel St. Raphael, great prince of the heavenly court.” He starts and Mrs. Barba clutches his hand, eyes filled with a new surge of tears after hearing the archangel’s name. Her son's name! The glaring fact hadn't occurred to Sonny until her reaction. “We beg you, assist our dear friend Rafael in all his needs and sufferings. Because you are the medicine of God.” He's not even sure he remembers the words correctly; his thoughts are frozen in a total disarray since the doctor left. But as his momma always says: it is the intention that God sees in your heart, that's what's really important. “St. Raphael, Angel of health, the Lord has filled your hand with balm from heaven to cure our pains. Heal Rafael, his body as well as his mind.” He had to add 'mind’ too, because how would someone come back from what Barba went through? If he can make it physically at first, of course. ‘ _Still touch and go’_ the doctors said, ' _wait and see_ ’… **If** the swelling in his brain gets contained... **If** the antibiotics can control the sepsis due to the ruptured intestine... **If** his lungs are strong enough to keep inflating... And **if** he is willing to fight…

“May God hear and answer our prayer according to His holy will and for His greater glory. We ask this through Jesus Christ our Lord, AMEN.”

“Thank you!” Mrs Barba hugs him after kissing her cross. “Thank you very much.”

Sonny can't respond, he hugs her back. They stay kneeling on the floor, listening to the _be beep_ s of the machines that keep Barba alive. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a Catholic so I searched internet for this prayer and thought it was beautiful and fitting. If I got it wrong in a disrespectful way, it's totally due to my ignorance and not at all intentional. Please let me know, I'll correct it asap.


	11. Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my betas tobeconspicous and Lyssa13...

  

__ LENOX HILL HOSPITAL  
76TH ST AND PARK AVENUE  
TUESDAY EVENING, JUNE 28 

 

Time slows down while waiting in a hospital. Lucia knows that very well. Her husband didn't die quickly, the stubborn bastard struggled for months. Just to torture them probably. Back then, she was expecting him to die, to leave them alone, to be free of his wretched existence. And even so, the time slowed down to a creep. 

Now… now she is waiting for a sliver of hope, some sign, anything to tell her that her son isn't going to die and leave her all alone in this world. The soft, periodic  _ hum  _ of the machine breathing for her son is all she hears most of the time; keeping him alive, tethering him to this world through only a piece of plastic. She keeps staring at the plethora of numbers blinking on the screens around him. All telling a different story about her son, but all in an alien language that she can't comprehend. And each hour is clutching their talons into the world, resisting angrily, carving something out from her soul when it finally passes.

One good thing came out through this tribulation is that she realized Rafael wasn’t suffering through as lonely a life as she had assumed. There are people that care about her son and by that Lucia doesn't mean the obligatory courtesy calls for the hospitalized assistant district attorney. Yes, her son has enough flowers in his room to fill a funeral home, coming from almost every county office in New York. And the District Attorney of New York County stopped by; he even sounded sincere promising to do everything he can for Rafael. But that's not all. There are people, who Lucia has never seen before, stopping by to bring her food, offering to drive her home for a shower, bringing her books and puzzles. People talking to her, crying with her, praying with her. People that know her son intimately. It really gave her a peace of mind because only Eddie showed up from  _ el barrio _ . Even Lucia's church friends are reluctant after Muñoz debacle. They called, of course, but Lucia knows they all think that Rafael is paying for what he did, for selling out his people, his friends… and it was hard before, but when Rafael is fighting for his life.. How dare they!

She's too tired to stay angry though. To feel anything other than the bone crushing sadness. She remembers the sleepless nights keeping vigil at Rafael's bed when he was a tiny baby; small and lean, skin and bones really. He wasn't a sickly kid; but when he got sick, it struck him down like the plague. He's still her baby. No matter that he's all grown, living alone, a successful lawyer, a man… He's Lucia's baby.

“ _Señora_ Barba.”

The last person she was expecting.

“Alejo!”

“How are you holding up, _ Maestra. _ ” He kisses her on both cheeks; his manners are top notch, as usual. “I'm really sorry, I couldn't come earlier.”

“I'm glad you could make it at all.” She turns nodding toward her pliant son, “I'm sure he’s too.”

They talk. The conversation is easy, unlike with Rafael’s new friends. It's an oasis in her misery filled dormancy. It's even easier than with Eddie who isn't one to talk much on a normal day. When he visited, Eddie hardly said ten words in two hours; including the greetings and goodbyes. So, Lucia grasps at the easy gossip on their mutual acquaintance, the effects of the new legislation on their neighborhood, the school…

“What did doctors say?” He finally asks when their talk dwindles down.

“They don't know if he's gonna make it, Alejo.” Her voice hitches; doesn't matter how many times she repeated the words to herself, they hurt like a razor cut when said aloud. ‘ _ He’s young and healthy. He has a fair chance to recover.’  _ The doctor had said, however, Lucia could read his eyes way too well, the silent  _ but  _ was too loud in them. 

“He'll make it.” He speaks with enough conviction that Lucia believes him. He always had that power, Alejo. When he talks, people listen. When he promises, people believe him. He's such a strong presence that Lucia feels second hand guilt for Rafael's betrayal, even though she knows what Alejo did. She is an educator; a teacher for children at that age. They are just children, she knows. She can never condone a predatory behavior like that. Ever! When facing him though... that knowledge diminishes and diminishes until it becomes almost insignificant. Tiny as a fly; a little annoying perhaps, but not enough to overcome the power of his voice, his presence.

“Thank you.” She says sincerely. She feels, not good, but better; better than she's been feeling since she received the news.

“You know Lucia, if you need to do anything, I can wait with Rafi.” He offers, easily. “I don't mind talking his ears off like in the old days.” He adds with a smile.

Lucia needs a shower, clean clothes and some food that isn't a cold sandwich or pizza. But she can't leave her son. She just can't.

“He's gonna be alright, but not right away.” Alejo continues, holding her hand. “You need to take care of yourself. They won’t let you in his room if you got sick.”

That stops her. He's right, of course he's right. Rafael barely got over the sepsis, another infection would be deadly. And if she's honest with herself, who else can she trust? Rafael's friends are good and well, but Lucia doesn't know them. Not like she knows Alejo who was inseparable from Rafael growing up,  _ los tres mosqueteros de Jerome Avenue _ ; who stood up with and for Rafael, countless times.

She'll be back in few hours. Her son is in good hands.

 

TBC...


	12. Protection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my amazing betas, Lyssa13 and tobeconspicous.

LENOX HILL HOSPITAL  
76TH ST AND PARK AVENUE  
TUESDAY EVENING, JUNE 28

 

“Lieutenant--”

“I'm on my way, Carisi” Olivia stops him while her cab takes a not-completely-legal turn onto 76th. “It's not like I can fly over there.” Even though the cab driver tries his best without being asked.

Carisi called barely 20 minutes ago and begged Olivia to check on Barba; complaining about the protection detail at the door not allowing him in to do so himself. She is sure it was IAB who gave the order, not Captain Logan. Carisi could visit Barba without a hitch until today and if the Captain was suspicious -even a little- he wouldn't let Carisi anywhere near Barba from day one. Sometimes she thinks IAB is doing things just to taunt her, to find her breaking point. An all boys club that's grinding an axe for her, for the one who got away…taking their best man with her.

When Carisi called, she was getting ready to go home, early for a change, but Carisi put an end to her plans. During his incoherent ravings, he managed to explain that he saw Alex Muñoz visiting Barba and that he had a _bad feeling._ Honestly, Olivia thinks he is being paranoid. However, considering that Carisi is currently being accused of a hate crime against his real-life idol, he has a right to be a little paranoid; so she decided that she could stop by the hospital on the way home. A bit of a detour obviously, but Carisi deserves some piece of mind. They all do. Still though, this is Manhattan, it does take time to go from point A to B, however much the cab drivers aspire to ride in a batmobile.

“I'm sorry, Lieu… but Mrs Barba just left, Muñoz is alone in there. And I'm feeling…” He’s breathing heavily, like he was running or exercising; or more like fighting with himself. “I'm about to do something you wouldn't approve.”

“Are you inside the hospital?” She asks while paying the driver.

“Yeah?” Carisi answers like it is the only reasonable thing to do. “They can't keep me away from the hospital, just from Barba's room. But if I charge in--”

“I'm on the elevator. Please, don't do anything stupid.”

Carisi is pacing by the elevator doors when she arrives and he guides -actually, all but drags- her through the cheerfully lit corridors as if she doesn't know where she's supposed to go.

“I know his case was before my time, Lieu, but I've seen how Barba reacted when he saw Muñoz even on TV.” His voice is coarse and shaking.

Olivia wonders how much caffeine he has consumed today. A lot, she guesses. His hair isn't done with whatever shiny pomade he usually prefers, the one that leaves a scent of Italy trailing after him. Without it -and with too many fingers passing through probably- his hair is slumped down from his forehead in dull strands. His eyes are sunken with big, dark bags circling under them; the contrast has turned the bright baby-blue of them to a striking stone-blue, cold and matte. The way his cheekbones are jutting out more than usual and with a sharper angle tells her that he must have lost some weight he couldn't afford to lose. Olivia should have forced the time off after the incident, instead of the mandatory desk duty; listening to his excuses was a mistake. On the other hand, she's almost sure Carisi wouldn't go home to get some rest if that was the case; he would just spend more time in the hospital instead.

“I know it's just a feeling, but… Thank you.” He finishes his ramblings and Olivia realizes with shame that she wasn't really listening. She nods fervently in an attempt to cover up her inattention.

One of the Unis opens the door when they see her coming. And there he is, Alex Muñoz, right across from her, standing over Barba's bed, plastering a pillow on his face. She has to give it to the protection officers because they pull their guns faster than Olivia can pull herself from the shock. Suddenly it's a ruckus in the small hospital room.

Carisi is screaming for a doctor, yelling at the officers and shouting in Italian so rapidly that Olivia can barely catch the words, only enough to understand that he's cursing a blue streak.

Muñoz is fighting against the officers and trying to place the pillow back under Barba's head as if it was his intention all along, as if he didn't get caught red-handed, attempting homicide. He is also talking like a madman; some total bullshit about misunderstandings and how he was actually helping his _friend_. He manages to squeeze in about his Cuban origin and -very loudly- about police brutality and racism too.

The officers try pulling him away from Barba’s bed which proves harder than one expects because the genius attached the vital signs monitors to his own body to keep them working while committing murder,  hence entangling himself in a forest of wires around the hospital bed.

“You fucking bastard.” Carisi roars next to Olivia, spitting out his anger and disgust, “You were his fucking friend. Jesus Christ! You knew him since you were kids.” His face is getting redder by minute, voice dropping lower and his breaths quicken almost to the point of hyperventilation. He is ready to do something that might hurt himself and the case.

“Take him outside, I'll call Captain Logan.” Olivia orders the officers who are busy handcuffing and detangling Barba's so-called friend. “Don't forget to mirandize him, I don't want his lawyer to find a tiniest excuse.” She stands in front of Carisi, just in case he loses it and decides to jump at Muñoz.

Nurses finally arrive after all that noise and if they are surprised at the pandemonium in the room, they don't show it in the slightest. Olivia doesn't wanna think about the stuff they witness so that this commotion isn't a blip on their radar.

As soon as Muñoz is free of the wires, several machines start to beep in a horrifying urgency. One after another, synchronized in their eerie harmony.

“Everyone out!” One of the nurses orders in a tone that tells Olivia she's used to being listened. She drags Carisi out to let them work on Barba, or more accurately, she tries to do so.

“Is he alive?” Carisi bawls, resisting with all his might. “Why? Lieutenant… Please… Please!” He's frantic, trying to hold on the door, peek through over Olivia, as if keeping Barba in his sight is going to help him, keep him alive, keep him here.

“He's alive, Hon.” whispers one of the nurses, hand gently patting Carisi’s arm. “The equipment’ll stop complaining when we connect everything back to him. Don't you worry, he'll come back to you.”

“Thank you,” answers Carisi, eyes shining with gratitude and unshed tears. He lets go of the door frame and Olivia directs him to the waiting area; easily, like guiding a sleepwalker.

They sit down on the flower patterned chairs in the corner; keeping Barba's door in their sight. Watching the crestfallen detective, Olivia wonders how she had missed what the night nurse caught in a passing moment. She knew this situation hit Carisi hard, harder than any one of them. But she blamed it on the fact that it was Carisi who found the gruesome crime scene.  Of course, she too was aware of his not-so-secret infatuation with Barba; she just wasn't sure whether Carisi wanted to be Barba, or to be with him. Also, what are the chances that Carisi wouldn't scream from rooftops that he was seeing someone, let alone that someone being Rafael Barba. She knows how secretive Barba is when it comes to his private life, but Carisi... When Carisi's little sister got pregnant, Olivia learned it before their mother did for God's sake. The guy couldn't keep even the smallest things in; the over-sharer… How did he manage to keep this one? For how long?

“I can't believe I missed the bastard.” Carisi says. He sits folded in two on the chair, elbows resting on his bony knees, head sagging down like it's just too heavy for his neck to carry. “What? 500 square foot apartment? And I missed two fucking--” His face momentarily scrunches up as if tasting the soap he was punished with for profanity. “Sorry, Lieutenant.” Then, he takes a deep breath and continues, “I missed two perps.”

“You were saving his life, Carisi. And now you caught one of them.”

“It means there's still one left.”

“I heard the doctors are gonna wake Ms Calhoun tomorrow.” She changes the subject; she learned long ago to pick her battles with guilt ridden Catholics, thanks to Stabler. “Hopefully, she can give us a name.”

Carisi nods, with a half smile which looks more morbid than hopeful. Olivia holds his shoulder, squeezing a little to send a single message of ‘ _I'm here.’_ There isn't much else she can do for him.

 

TBC...


	13. Downfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... it's finished.
> 
> I can't thank enough to Lyssa13 and tobeconspicous for all their help.

_ CENTRAL PARK  
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 29  _

 

The kids are running out of the summer theater as if someone is chasing after them. All happy noises; playful yells, surprised shrieks, but mostly laughter. Samuel watches them skipping over colorful wildflowers, jumping over small rocks or bumping into each other with glee. He aches with a yearning so powerful that he almost collapses under it; but he can't go near them. His own children.

He isn't even supposed to be this close to a children's event; being on the fucking registry does that to a person. But no one is suspecting of him at the moment and he misses his kids. So much... He can't see them anywhere else. Kaitlyn doesn't talk to him. She was a supportive wife at the beginning, but when she heard how Barba described Samuel to the jury… She filed for divorce so quick that it finalized before his sentencing. He has visitation rights, on paper, but his kids don't want to talk to him. Mimi was willing, she's only 6 and she's daddy's little munchkin; but Matt was so angry that he didn't let his sister get close to Samuel. He can still force them, as is his right; but it's not really worth the struggle just to be able to watch how much his son hates him. Kaitlyn said she didn't say anything to the kids; it's all what they heard from the neighbors and friends. And Samuel doesn't have to guess how cruel 9 year olds can be. Matt’s life turned upside down because of the trial. Thinking about it, his hatred for Barba burns even hotter. The bastard didn't let Samuel plea for willful misconduct. He forced Samuel and his family through a tortuous court process and it broke them.

Barba also insisted on putting him on the registry as if Samuel was one of those fucking perverts. And the registry stuck, even after the gig he did for DOC while in prison. He risked his life for their fucking case and the bastards only shaved ten years off from his sentence; not even touching the black mark on his name. Now, he can't find a decent job. Can't get an apartment. Can't even pick his kids from school. The only friends in the force that still talk to him do that just to complain about Barba, the cop hating ADA.  

Samuel has nothing left. Nothing. 

He almost killed himself after Matt told him to stay away, not to touch his little sister, as if talking to a rabid dog. Revenge was the only thing that kept him going, imagining the pain he would inflict on the cocky bastard. And wasn't it worth the wait; his cries, his tears. Hearing him fucking beg for mercy... 

It's actually better that Barba didn't die like they had planned initially. He'll live with humiliation just like the life he forced onto Samuel. There will always be a reminder of his shame, always. He'll feel exactly how Samuel is feeling: he'll lose his pride, his job... There's no way Barba can keep his high-profile job after being sodomized brutally in front of witnesses. His friends will turn their back on him too. Who would stay friendly with a fucking sissy who got gangbanged in his living room? Barba will lie down on his bed every lonely fucking night, and inevitably relive the day when his life turned upside down. Probably forever.

Now, there's only one thing left for Samuel: Staying alive and free; long enough to observe the downfall of Rafael Barba. He promised Muñoz that he would take care of the lawyer lady if Muñoz did Barba. And the poor bastard believed him; stupid fucker! Or maybe he was just that desperate because Alex Muñoz had lots to lose, unlike Samuel West. Samuel can stay under the radar without changing a single thing in his current miserable life. Thanks to Barba he is already an undocumented drifter in this Mega City. Why would he risk getting caught by trying to enter a victim’s hospital room?

Now, he'll wait. He'll watch. And after the attention on Barba lifts, maybe after Muñoz’s trial, Samuel will make himself visible to the bastard now and again. Just to remind Barba that he's still there. Like the ghost of Barba's worst day, Samuel will haunt the guy, forever. Just as Barba's life starts returning to his normal, Samuel will jumpstart the nightmares. He'll become the boogeyman. Maybe he'll leave a broken chair leg in front of his door, just to catch glimpse of him reeling from terror. Or he might leave one of those messages that Muñoz had dutifully composed. Or the pictures of Barba getting double dicked on Ferris’ phone which Samuel hadn't had a chance to return before the guy kicked it. 

Oh, he just can't wait for the fun to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hate me (or hate me too much after everything I've done to our beloved) the sequel is on its way to beta. (Psst.. Its title is “Comeback”.)
> 
> Second thing, Samuel West is the Officer West who raped pretty, drunk ladies and tried to kill Brian Cassidy in 15x4, Internal Affairs. As I mentioned to some earlier, it wasn't my intention to put Barba through this much torture. But between Muñoz and West… let's say we're lucky that they weren't smart enough to pull everything they wanted to do.
> 
> Third thing, I watched “Internal Affairs” again last night and Officer West’s partner mentions only one kid. (Gasps.) But I'm already emotionally attached to both Mimi and Matt… So, what is canon anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilery Warnings: This story deals with explicit rape which is part of a very brutal and violent attack which leads to some serious hurt. There is no character death though, so there's that.
> 
>  
> 
> I want to be a better writer, folks. Please leave comments, I'd especially appreciate constructive criticism.


End file.
